


The First Frost

by owlcreek



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Christmas, Hurt Leonard Snart, Leonard & Lisa Snart Sibling Feels, Leonard Snart Lives, Protective Leonard Snart, Snart Family Feels, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8677924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlcreek/pseuds/owlcreek
Summary: A look at what happened to Snart after his death where he's able to jump from points in time as a ghost. He finds himself in an old memory on a dreary, winter day.





	

                The kitchen light quivered from where he stood. Through those dusty old windows, he could just make out his father’s figure. At first the shadow simply looked like a pitiful man, but then it raised a hand and the whole scene wasn’t such a mystery anymore. His father’s arm swung – vicious, but precise because it wasn’t his first. It was perfected art like a painter who had poured his soul and blood into making his masterpiece. To make sure that the navy pushed through the black smudges in such a beautiful way. And that the red veins – like crimson branches against snow – were vivid enough to stand out among any water stains.

                The air was frigid where he watched and it was the only comforting factor in this play. He closed his eyes and let the wind nip at his nose and cheeks until they were flushed. Ever since death embraced him, the cold was all he could ever feel. Fitting.

                The November sky was dark despite the early hour. The sun seemed depressed – not yet able to drag its sorry ass out of bed and begin the day. Instead of letting the moon have all the fun, Snart made his way to the back porch after the window’s violent episode was done.

                On the crooked, wooden steps was a girl with her eye puffed and drenched. She had a sack of frozen peas – one that had long been expired – resting on the bruised skin. From inside the shit house he could hear his own voice shouting back at their father – a younger, much more naïve version of himself, but still with the same amount of guts. How proud he felt.

                Snart hovered in the shadowed trees, watching the girl do her best not to cry or to at least do so silently. She let the peas rest against her shoulder so she could play with a golden bangle in her hands. It cycled around her boney fingers again and again and again until it became memorizing. As if it were no longer a cheap piece of jewelry, but something otherworldly gliding through this thick air until it could spin off to someplace less shabby.

                After the twelfth spin, Snart emerged from his hiding place. The girl didn’t look up from her prop, but her shoulders jumped at the sound of his boots cracking against twigs and glass shards from beer bottles.

                “Are you here for my dad?” she asked.

                “No. Should I be?”

                She glanced at his tattered parka and the gun in his hands before giving a shrug. “Most men looking like you are.”

                “Sorry to disappoint.”

                He took the liberty of sitting at the bottom of the steps while she remained at the top. Although she did scrunch up her body and lean against the flimsy screen door to create a stronger distance. He kept himself to the bottom banister to help with that and laid the gun at his feet. She still didn’t seem convinced of his peaceful presence, but she didn’t bother to go back inside. Perhaps sitting on the steps with a stranger was safer than being with her crap of a father.

                “I know your father.” Snart said.

                “Yeah?”

                “Yeah. He’s a real jackass.”

                The girl snickered at this. “You must know him pretty good.”  

                From inside he could hear another howl – this one from his teenage self. His father usually restrained from smacking his only son. It was difficult to hit a mirror image of yourself, he supposed. That one shot at a legacy – at a second chance. A second you.

                But there were still nights when his old man just couldn’t help himself. Snart instinctively reached for his wrist where the night’s feature left a thin reminder along his veins. His sister listened to the same white noise and tried not to raise her voice.

                “He must be really pissed tonight.” she said.

                Someone inside clicked on the kitchen radio and cranked it up. His past yelps were drowned out by a man singing about how last Christmas he gave someone his heart, but the very next day they gave it away.

                The girl’s ears perked up at the music and she lifted her eyes to view the houses across the road. Through the broken trees, they could both see a few white lights trickling down from the rooftop. They had a warm glow from this distance – almost golden against the navy sky. She spun her bracelet a little quicker and stared longingly at the lights.

                “You have a good brother in there, you know.” said Snart, “A bit of a screw-up, but a smart kid.”

                She kept her attention on the cozy dream a block away. “I know. That’s why he’s the favorite.”

                Snat took a moment to listen. To the light wind biting his ears. To the distant music as it fell into the second verse. To the sniffling of his baby sister beside him.  “Look, your dad isn’t going to be the first asshole you encounter.”

                “That’s reassuring.”

                Snart’s eyes grazed over the frostbitten ground. He couldn’t remember the last time it had snowed in Central City – _really_ snowed. It was always specks of frost on dusty car windows or chipped picket fences. By the afternoon the ice melted and sank into the soil only to emerge again the next morning before melting again. Nothing ever stayed here.

                He felt his breath leave his body and watched it linger in the air. The simple act of exhaling felt like someone was throwing knives out of his throat. Either it was to rid him of personal toxins or make room for something far more agonizing. He placed a hand to his throat for blood, but came away with only a few stray hairs from his coat.

                “No, listen.” said Snart, “There’s going to be a lot of men out there who will try and break you apart. But you can’t let them.”

                “Why should it matter?” With a flick of her wrist, she presented the tarnished yard to him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

                “Don’t ever let him hear you say that.”

                “Lenny or my dad?”

                “Both.”

                He placed his hand over the bracelet she kept spinning to make it stop. Her arms quivered, but she held that bruised little head of hers up high. The eye he could see was distant, but it remained watchful and focused.

                “You’re going to get out of this hellhole one day.” said Snart as he pointed to the screened door. “You’re going to rise above old asshats like that. And if you ever want the help, that little brat in there won’t hesitate. Even if he disappears, he’ll still be looking out for you.”

                She sniffed. “And how do you know that?”

                “Because you’re the only good thing this crap family ever made.”

                “What? Are you like from the future or something?”

                “Something like that.”

                He could hear his younger self call to Lisa from the kitchen. She called back to him and removed the bag from her cheek. The skin around her eyes was already a violent shade of indigo and she could barely keep it open. The door creaked and he got to his feet.

                “Looks like that’s my cue to go.”

                He made his way back to the dead trees, but it was difficult to move his feet in that direction. He turned back to her one last time. She was still watching him – curious, maybe a little anxious. Seeing her bruised didn’t help him in his departure, but he was starting to feel his presence fade. Time didn’t want him here much longer.

                “Have a good life.” he said. “Even if they tell you not to.”

                She nodded solemnly as he drifted back into the dark. He saw himself walk out onto the porch with a wet paper towel around his wrist and an ice pack for her. That’s when she started sobbing and he needed to leave.

                He made it to one of the abandoned highways before feeling hollow again. Would this just be the norm from now on? Being shoved from memory to memory without his consent. A lost little time ghost until the world tore itself apart.

                Or maybe he hadn’t yet died and his pathetic mind was flinging him from place to place just so he could say his goodbyes. Perhaps he was too sentimental to let go or maybe it was just the fear. His anxiety in this moment was allowing him to prolong the shitty life he’d led.

                All so he could inhale the first frost.


End file.
